Raindrops
by Mystikal Essence
Summary: A short one-shot, AU, depicting the darker side of humanity, i.e. Hilde's high school life, with Duo thrown in for good measure. 2+H, some language and mature themes. Cynicism and sarcasm abound. " At the hellish asylum some refer to as school, my overa


Hey, everyone…I haven't been posting here in FF.Net for the longest time…the last Gundam-related fic was probably a year ago, but I haven't stopped writing…I just never get around to fics…but now, hey, the creative juices are overflowing like crazy…this is originally a short story for my English class, but I decided to convert it into a fic because, well, I wanted to pay homage to my favorite Gundam couple, 2xH and keep the Gundam love alive…yep, haha…although in this particular piece of fiction, Duo and Hilde's relationship is more on the subtle side…more implied than actually shoved right in your face…-_-  
  
Uhm, one thing you, Reader, should know…this is an AU fic…meaning it doesn't follow the series…in this short fic, there are no such things as Gundams and outer space…it's just a side story I've concocted on my take of Hilde's high school life…set here on Earth, more specifically in the Bay Area, CA…uh, what else? Oh, I rated this PG-13 because of mature themes and language…nothing over the top, but just be aware that it contains dark motifs, such as self-mutilation and death.  
  
Uh, yeah…don't own, don't sue…please read and review…~_^ On to the fic…  
  
"Raindrops"  
  
by ~*Mystikal Essence*~  
  
  
  
"Dinner, Hilde," I heard my mother call from the hallway. Looking up from the computer screen, I pondered for a minute if I should go down and eat dinner with my dysfunctional family or stay within the safe anonymity of the Internet. The growl of my overzealous stomach settled the matter as I typed my farewell to my fellow web lurkers.  
  
"Gotta go, folks. There's a man hovering around me, trying to get my attention by stroking my—"  
  
Click. "Goodbye," bid the AOL man. I grinned like a maniac, making a mental note to myself to never go back to the "'60s and Loving It" chat room.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"So, how was school, hon," my father asked, his tone almost convincing. Funny how that trite phrase sounded so much more sincere spoken by a real father, rather than a sitcom dad.  
  
"Oh, you know, the usual. A comprehensive, unexpected mind challenge in Chemistry, insightful discussions in English, and an abstract piece of media in History," I recited enthusiastically.  
  
"In other words, a pop quiz, a mandatory class debate, and a video, correct?" Mother volunteered casually.  
  
I sighed and rolled my eyes, though secretly pleased that my parents were in on my personal language. They proved themselves yet again as cooler than the anthropoids at school.  
  
"Excellent potatoes, Mother," I declared, voice void of sarcasm. I emphasized further, shoving a mouthful of the gritty, white, soup-like incarnation of the mashed potato. It tasted like what I imagined Cream of Wheat must taste like, for it certainly looked like it. But to hell with that, my mother deserved the praise. White lies were good in moderation, I heard.  
  
She smiled at me, while my father looked at us fondly, and I thank whatever gods and deities were up there for keeping my dysfunctional family closer than ever.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Of all of men's creations, I found the alarm clock the most sadistic. More efficient than a human, but as heartless as a slave-driver, it almost never fails its duty.  
  
I found myself many a mornings with the overwhelming urge to hurl the cursed machine against the wall, but never actually doing it. For one thing, it was also my radio and being the cheapskate that I am, I know I won't buy a replacement had I actually shattered it to pieces.  
  
The anger itself was what woke me up from peaceful slumber every morning. Off to the ice box that was the shower stall, then a bite of a cookie and a swig of milk that was breakfast.  
  
And some people wondered why I was always in pissy mood.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
At the hellish asylum some refer to as school, my overactive imagination ran amuck. I formulated mini-stories in my mental laptop—about the fascinatingly jovial young lady in front of me, or the disturbingly placid boy in the front row. Every once in a while, during especially dull sessions, I theorized about teachers' personal lives. Or lack thereof.  
  
That particular day was really no exception. I drifted off to my private-paradise-realm as a substitute teacher miserably took the roll during first period. After tripping up on everyone's names, including his own, he passed out our designated worksheets and slinked back to the safety of his desk. Accepting defeat, he turned on the computer and feigned deep concentration, as if working on grades or something similar, but it was quite obvious that he was playing solitaire.  
  
"Hey Pixie Hilde, whatcha doin' after school?" I heard a low, male voice address me.  
  
Turning around, I raised my eyebrow in an exasperated glare. My best friend Duo held up his hands in surrender. Being familiar with my infamous eyebrow arch, he knew he was pushing it.  
  
"Dammit, Duo, will you act normally and quit making up eccentric nicknames?" I rebuked, the look of contempt still evident in my face. "For heaven's sake…"  
  
He attempted to stare me down, but inevitably lost. The corners of his mouth twitched and pretty soon lit up his face with that gorgeous smile of his. "Please accept my apologies, oh, Miss Schbeiker," he declared with a grin.  
  
I laughed at him and our silliness, completely ignoring the disapproving stares from our peers. Who gave a rat's ass about what they thought, anyway? I loved my best friend.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
The bell rang promptly at 11:40, allowing us prisoners (or students, whatever) to get our grub in the dim, stuffy, and crowded cafeteria. Duo and I really didn't like being in there with its revolting commingled smell of food and people, so we usually just hung out on the hill in the back of the school, where the portable classrooms were. But it was such an alluring, sunny, clear morning, I felt like withdrawing from the Hellish Asylum for the rest of the day.  
  
"What about your Chem exam?" Duo half-heartedly attempted. But to no avail, of course.  
  
"If I take it now, I'm gonna fail it anyway," I reasoned, linking my arm through his. "I'll study tonight, I promise," I vowed, "I'll even get a parent's signature so it's excused."  
  
"I'll personally call Mother if you don't keep your word," he threatened.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," I dismissed him. He looked out for me so much, which I was grateful for, but sometimes he was like a mother hen. "Let's take your car and leave the top down," I suggested, wiggling my eyebrows like a pimp.  
  
"Aren't you getting a little carried away?" my friend said, amused, as we strolled out to the school parking lot.  
  
"But look at how blue the sky is, love," I gestured out to the beautiful backdrop to our mundane lives. "Mother Nature's practically begging us to go out and appreciate her beauty."  
  
"That narcissistic wench," Duo remarked with a shake of his head.  
  
"Yeah, tell me about it," I replied, tossing my hair behind my shoulder and checking my teeth on his tinted windows.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
After about 20 minutes of driving, we ended up stopping at the side of the Great Highway. The Pacific Ocean matched the color of the sky perfectly, the horizon diminishing into nothing but a fine line that disappeared when you squinted.  
  
We got out of the car and started down the esplanade by the beach. Confused and shivering tourists in khaki shorts and T-shirts looked utterly ridiculous huddled together, ignorant of the fact that San Francisco was eternally cold. Well, I suppose, not eternally, but around 90% of the time. It was mid-September, with temperatures reaching the 90s in the inland valleys, but my deviant Frisko remained at a cool 55°.  
  
The chilling wind stung my face a little, but I hardly noticed. This was my favorite place in the world. With the vast ocean in front of me, it was very humbling. Reminded me of the "big picture" outside the familiarity of my little niche this side of the planet.  
  
"Yeah, that's exactly how I feel," Duo softly agreed.  
  
I blushed lightly, unaware that I just said my thoughts out loud. I gave him a sideways glance, discerning that despite his sharp profile, he still possessed an innocence about him. He was like a walking contradiction—gloriously long hair, braided like that of a mythical god's, a warm, rich brown with red tints in the sun, an easygoing demeanor, but with eyes that conceal. His taste on clothing is arguably unkempt, but I wouldn't say grungy. Black jeans and a black shirt, appropriate for school.  
  
We walked down to the beach, a comfortable silence between us.  
  
"Why can't we just go here everyday, instead of that thrice-damned school?" I complained after a few minutes. We were sitting on the sand, leaning against each other.  
  
"Oh, come on, babe. Education's gonna come in handy someday, don't you think?" Duo chided.  
  
I sighed, resting my head on his shoulder. "Goodness, Duo, why do you have to be so damn sensible all the time. You're already getting good grades and all, you shouldn't worry about a thing."  
  
Duo looked pensive, but remained quiet. I started to hum a forgotten tune, lost in my own reverie.  
  
"Last night, I had a dream that I died," I told him after a couple of minutes. "It was so trippy and weird, because I was there…looking at my corpse, but I wasn't crying. I wasn't even sad…" I trailed off. "Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever cried in funerals," I continued. "Or weddings, or at the end of sappy movies, or even when I get hurt…"  
  
"So, you're telling me that you're incapable of crying?" Duo asked skeptically. "You're tough, babe, but you've had to had shed a few tears over the years."  
  
I shook my head slowly. "No, really…the last time I cried was when my grandmother died when I was seven."  
  
"Ten years ago?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"So, what do you do when you're sad?"  
  
"I'm never sad. I'm just…stoical and composed, I guess," I said indifferently as I drew abstract patterns in the sand with a stick.  
  
I never realized how true those words were.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
For the next couple of weeks following my informative discovery, I experimented with things to trigger any hint of emotion—saw Titanic twice, with the "I'll never let go" part rewound a dozen times, I read those Chicken Soup for the Soul books, and even went as far as pulling out old journals to relive past misfortunes and heartaches. All were made in futility.  
  
Out of frustration and curiosity, I started to cut myself. The first time I did it with a razor, I was a little scared. I felt it slice through the skin of my forearm, and it stung slightly. I remembered the thin trickle of dark blood slithering down my arm like a demonic snake. As I watched in morbid fascination, little drops dripped on the immaculate porcelain sink, resembling red rose petals.  
  
I let the slit leak out more blood, then I cleaned it up. I just put a little pressure on it, and the flow ceased. What remained was just a thin, red line. The only evidence of my beautiful exploitation.  
  
I kept this hidden from my best friend, of course. But, inside, I questioned myself over and over: Is there something terribly wrong with me? I'm a robot who can't feel, but have a passion for pain. I was utterly confused. The whole cutting scheme didn't really solve the mystery, but it did make me feel in control, so I kept doing it. It was sort of like my newfound addiction, you could say.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*  
  
I willed myself to push the dilemma in the back of my mind, but it still bothered me from time to time. My "emotion deficit disorder", or EDD, as I affectionately called it, was still fresh and very much alive in my psyche. And just like the sibling I never had, it liked to rear its ugly head, in the most inappropriate moments, to remind me of my incapability. Taunting me. Tormenting me.  
  
One such occasion was a cold afternoon in November. My mother was in the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone. I had just arrived home from school and was about to go up to my room when she called me.  
  
"Hilde, honey, will you come here, please?" she requested gently.  
  
I knew there was something wrong. Her voice was a little shaky and hoarse. Like she'd been crying.  
  
"Yes, Ma?" I answered. My mother looked so…different. She looked bewildered and weary at the same time.  
  
"Someone from Dad's work called and said that he suffered a heart attack," she explained calmly. With silent tears coursing down her face.  
  
I gazed at my mother's face, so resembling my own. Following every tear slide down, I gradually absorbed what she just told me.  
  
"Oh."  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
"And I just stood there, like a fuckin' idiot, while my mother bawled her eyes out," I relayed to Duo later that afternoon. I couldn't take the pressure of it all, so I left my mother leaning against the kitchen counter and bolted out of the house as fast as I could.  
  
"How serious is it?" he asked with concern, turning his gaze towards me.  
  
"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "Hey, keep your eyes on the road, man."  
  
"Oh, right, sorry."  
  
After I called him, Duo picked me up and we've just been driving around the freeway, talking. It started to rain, and I watched in fascination as the fat drops hit the windshield.  
  
"I love rain, don't you?" I murmured, satiated by the pitter-patter of the crystal droplets. "The sound's oddly comforting."  
  
"Mm-hmm," he responded. He exited from the highway and found ourselves driving down a desolate road. He pulled over.  
  
We didn't talk for a couple of minutes; the only sound was the pounding rain. I busied myself by intensely scrutinizing the clear beads clinging to the window. I noticed that when one slid down, it took others with it, too.  
  
"Look, Hilde, you have to seek therapy," he suddenly blurted out.  
  
"When I close my eyes…I can see for miles," I sang along softly with the radio. "There's comfort in my dark seat…and chaos in the aisles."  
  
"Hilde, come on," he persuaded.  
  
"When I close my eyes…I remember why I smile," I continued, completely ignoring him. "Under my umbrella…I'm an accomplished exile." I started to hum under my breath, not daring to look at Duo and his hypnotic amethyst orbs.  
  
"Dammit, Hilde, listen to me," he pleaded, grasping my arm.  
  
"Shit! Let go of me!" I panicked. I had a fresh cut, I only did it last night, and it hasn't completely closed up yet.  
  
"What's the matter with you?" he demanded, loosening his grip. He pulled back his hand and right there on my pristine, long-sleeved shirt, blossomed a crimson rose, screaming for attention.  
  
I heard Duo gasp sharply; his jaw went slack. I bit my lip savagely until I tasted the coppery tang of blood. I wasn't only horrified, but enraged beyond belief.  
  
"You motherfucker," I cursed silently.  
  
Duo was breathing heavily, and I knew he was looking at me. I curled up into a fetal position, wrapping my arms around me protectively.  
  
"Listen, Hilde…I'm sorry, okay, babe? I didn't mean to do that," he said quietly. "But, I've noticed something about your behavior this past few weeks, and I just want to let you know that I know what you're going through."  
  
I didn't say anything. After the initial rage I felt, there was nothing left but emptiness. I'm a deflated balloon, suddenly flat and lifeless.  
  
Duo rested his hand on my shoulder and shook me gently. "Look at this."  
  
I slowly shifted in my seat to see what he was talking about. Pulling up his sweater sleeve, I saw a small scar, barely visible, on his right wrist. Right where the vein was most visible.  
  
"I attempted suicide when I was fourteen, four years ago. That was back in L.A.," he said calmly.  
  
I still didn't look at his face, but I rubbed his little scar with my thumb. I felt his heartbeat, pulsating with life, and made me wonder why he would do such a thing.  
  
"Yeah, it was pretty stupid. I wasn't even depressed, I mean, I had problems, but they were all above the surface," he paused. "It was my best friend back then, his name was Heero…he got me into all these bullshit."  
  
Of all the years I'd known Duo, he'd never mentioned this Heero character, or the fact that he had tried to take his life. I was stunned.  
  
"His older brother was a druggie—smoked pot, snorted cocaine, got high off of everything. That son of a bitch even tried to sniff their dad's ashes one time," he shook his head. "I used to cut class with him and smoke at his house. The brother was too wasted to know, anyway."  
  
I remained silent, enthralled by what he was revealing to me. As he talked, layers and layers were shed, and I could see him more clearly now.  
  
"I was hooked on that shit for a while, but then he started having these suicidal tendencies. Of course, he sucked me into that as well. So we plotted and we planned and decided to leave this wretched world on New Year's Eve," he chuckled. "It was hella cheesy, babe. We were like, 'Last day of the year, last day of my life.'"  
  
"I can't believe you have the audacity to joke, Duo," I said gravely.  
  
"Well, it sounds really dumb to me now. But, back then, we were as serious as a couple of business people. Everything was precise, calculated, accounted for. It was a damn mission. That night, we were in his bedroom, dressed in our best Sunday attire, meaning I had on a suit and tie, and he had on black jeans and the most despicable green tank top, ready to commit the sin."  
  
"You're really good at this, dear," I commented dryly. "But, please, continue."  
  
"Uh, thanks. But, yeah, anyway, when the clock struck 11:57, we were supposed to start slitting," he gestured the act on his wrist. "Straight down and deep, to make sure you really rupture the vein, therefore, cutting the flow of circulation. Well…right when I jammed the blade down, my family's image implanted itself in my brain and stopped me. I remember stopping myself and throwing the blade on the floor and crying and then I felt dizzy and lightheaded. Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital, bandaged and connected to some machines. Apparently, Heero's mom found us there, passed out on the floor and called 911," he narrated, clearly but his voice wavered a bit.  
  
"I guess I didn't cut deep enough or something, because I survived. Just a got a blood transplant from my brother and was checked out of the hospital a couple of days later. Heero, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky."  
  
I looked into his eyes and noticed that they were hollow and distant. He had the same look in my mother's eyes earlier that afternoon.  
  
"I didn't get to go to his funeral because I was put in a psychological ward in this place for teenagers with different neurosis and phobias. We moved here to San Francisco, closer to my cousins, the next school year."  
  
"Oh, I see," I stated languidly, but the realization finally dawning on me. "Why is it that you never told me any of these things?"  
  
"I just really never found the right time. It wasn't like I wanted to keep it from you, Hilde, but I thought it would scare you off. What was I supposed to say, 'Hey, babe, I tried to kill myself before but failed. Wanna go out to the movies?' No...I didn't want to do that," he answered frankly.  
  
I nodded. I scooted over, next to him, and gave him a tight hug. "Thank you for telling me that and helping me," I told him softly.  
  
What he did next surprised me more than anything else that day. He kissed me, gently on the lips.  
  
Neither of us said anything after the surreal moment. My beloved raindrops continued to tap-tap-tap on the windows, as if clapping for us.  
  
I smiled. "Let's go home."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
When we arrived home, it was already dark, but the rain still drizzled on. My mother was standing outside, drenched and shaking, but I saw her face light up when she saw us approaching.  
  
"Oh, my God, Hilde," she wept, running up to us and crushing me in a snug embrace. "My baby, my baby…" she chanted over and over, as if to comfort herself.  
  
"Oh, Ma, I'm here. Sorry for just leaving like that," I apologized gently, resting my head on my mother's shoulder. She was so much shorter than me.  
  
She kept on crying and wailing, muttering incoherent words. Finally she spoke up.  
  
"Your father's all right, baby," she reassured me, as she sniffled and smiled through her sobs.  
  
I looked back at Duo, then at my mother. Something burst inside of me and I could breathe again. I was overjoyed. Overwhelmed with relief. Overcome with emotions.  
  
Ten years worth of silence was shattered.  
  
I didn't even realize I was crying, for my tears mingled with the raindrops from the sky.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~ end  
  
  
  
Too dark and/or weird? Eh, I guess that's just how my mind operates…but I'm sure some high-schoolers out there can relate…oh, the lyrics that Hilde sings in that one scene is from "Under my Umbrella" by the incredibly awesome Incubus. If you get the chance, you should pick up Morning View…this album is phenomenally amazing…it's actually the unseen force behind my sudden burst of inspiration…haha, alright, enough promotion, huh?  
  
For all the Heero fans out there, myself included, please don't be offended that I chose him as the dark friend…but out of everyone in Gundam, I just found him to be the one who could most accurately symbolize the pain and gloom of humanity…uh, also because of his and Duo's eccentric friendship…not that I believe that Heero is necessarily a bad influence, but I perceive him as the most suicidal…yeah, please don't hurt me! be more open-minded, ne? Also about the OOCness…eh, I'm a nonconformist…(Duo actually getting good grades?! Hilde, masochistic? Why, that's unheard of!! Hehe…)  
  
alright…whoo, feels good to be back…now who's part of the welcome back committee? stroke my ego and review! I'll send ya a mental thank-you note…thanks! 


End file.
